Chapter 63

“You actually tattooed such an important map on his ass—what if someone sees it!” The first mate of the Wind Fury widened his eyes and glared at his captain. Three seconds later, sensing something amiss from the captain’s unperturbed expression, the red-haired first mate rearranged his facial features back to their proper positions, cleared his throat, and reluctantly said, “But it does seem like something you’d do.”

The captain let out a noncommittal hum, his long legs arrogantly propped up on his desk.

Rick chuckled awkwardly, “Well, that’s a place where probably no one but you would see it.”

Caesar stood up, pulled out a roll of nautical charts from the cabinet behind him—charts that had been obtained at great cost from the Spanish royal family—and casually tossed it onto the table. He picked up a quill from the desk, quickly making several marks on specific areas. Lowering his head, he seemed fully immersed in his work, his voice calm as he said, “Pass the order: we’ll make a stop at the Menorca Pier for restocking and repairs. Give the shipwrights some time to fix and refurbish all the ships damaged in this raid… Oh, and go next door. Call that person who’s been reflecting on his mistakes.”

Rick: “…”

Caesar raised an eyebrow: “What?”

Rick: “Just punish him a little, but don’t whip him. Don’t ruin the map—”

Caesar: “Get out. One… two…”

Before the count of “three” could leave his lips, the red-haired first mate, heartbroken, dashed out of the captain’s cabin. Heaven knew he should have been lying down in the infirmary like the other injured crew members, but no, he had to be loyal and rush to the captain’s office to express his concerns about the future voyage. Yet, his captain was proving with his actions that anyone who doubted him was an idiot.

Rick relayed the captain’s orders to the young man standing by the window in the adjacent cabin, who was immersed in a 45-degree angle of melancholy. Three minutes later, the door to the captain’s cabin was hesitantly knocked.

“Come in, the door’s unlocked,” the captain said without looking up, his gaze fixed on the nautical chart spread across his desk. “If it were locked, it wouldn’t have kept you out, you troublemaker.”

Three seconds later, the door creaked open a crack, sunlight spilling onto the soft carpet of the captain’s quarters. Peeking through the gap was a face that resembled Jia Baoyu’s look of despair.

The man glanced up briefly before returning to his work, dipping his quill into the ink…

“Who are you making that face for?” he asked, effortlessly connecting the marked points on the map with ink lines. On the first line, he hesitated for a moment before jotting down a simple number only he could understand. He raised his hand from the desk, tapping the edge lightly as he called, “Come here, little slave.”

Miguel, still wearing that Jia Baoyu-esque expression of deep sorrow, scurried over to the captain’s side.

…Really? That dumb face? Caesar smirked faintly, his smile as calm as a breeze. “You look like you have something to say?”

Though to the troublemaker, that calmness felt more like the calm before the storm. Standing at attention, Miguel nervously stared at the handsome face of the “big dog” so close to him and sincerely said, “I’m sorry.”

“…?” Caesar paused, then made a pained expression, waving his hand dismissively. “Let’s skip that.”

Miguel: “I caused you to lose the compass you worked so hard to get. If I had just listened to you and stayed in the cabin, maybe…”

“But Rick might have ended up at the bottom of the Hornet’s hull if no one had pulled him back in time,” Caesar interrupted the navigator’s self-reflection. Under the younger man’s slightly stunned gaze, the captain set down his quill, turning to meet those jet-black eyes that sparkled like black pearls. He spoke slowly, emphasizing each word: “You saved him.”

Miguel: “That’s true, but…”

“If you think a compass that occasionally malfunctions is more important than the first mate of the Wind Fury, I’ll relay that to Rick and ask for his thoughts,” Caesar said with mock surprise. “And it’ll make me reconsider whether there’s something wrong with my education, forcing me to correct your completely messed-up values.”

Miguel: “…”

Shifting his gaze away from Miguel, Caesar refocused on the nautical chart before him. His slender fingers traced the inked lines he had drawn earlier, stopping when they reached a new, untouched area of the map. He frowned slightly, deep in thought.

Until something poked his waist hesitantly.

“…I’m starting to regret calling you over. Before this, I thought you were halfway out the window, ready to leap off my ship and end your childish life,” the man said without looking up, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “If you want to throw a tantrum, go find Rick. He owes you his life; you can torment him all you want…”

“Big dog, are you comforting me?”

“…”

“Big dog?”

“…”

“Captain?”

“…”

“Woof?”

“Shut up.” The man sighed, tossing the quill aside. He pinched the bridge of his nose, finally showing a hint of exhaustion. “Either go out and bother Rick, or sit quietly on that couch like a well-behaved corpse.”

Later, Miguel chose option C instead of A or B. He stood at attention beside Caesar’s desk, motionless, quiet, and as obedient as a corpse.

Caesar smirked coldly, warning that any noise disturbing his work would result in being thrown out, before returning to his nautical chart. Bored, Miguel leaned in to look as well. He noticed that this chart was different from the usual ones marked with longitude and latitude. Beyond the typical seasonal ocean currents, this special chart had almost every area standardized with unique coordinates—

And those unique patterns felt familiar.

Where had he seen them before? As Miguel craned his neck, deep in thought, he failed to notice the captain’s hand reaching over—right where the ink bottle should have been, the captain grabbed the belt Miguel had yet to return.

Miguel: “…”

Caesar: “…”

Under the awkward stare, the captain impassively pulled the two pistols from the navigator’s belt and tossed them back into the desk drawer.

Crossing his arms, he settled back into the plush armchair. When the young man beside him cast a confused look in his direction, a deep, inexplicable malice surged within the captain. His fingertips lightly brushed his lips until they grew warm, and he finally spoke slowly, “Besides the crime of disobeying orders and running around, I’ve just realized there’s another issue we need to address.”

“That was… an emergency,” Miguel said warily, eyeing the captain’s mischievous expression. “You didn’t leave me any clothes, and all I could find were yours.”

“Oh, so you’re blaming my oversight?”

“…No,” Miguel forced a smile. “Of course not.”

“Guess what the punishment for theft is on the Wind Fury?”

“Surely not throwing me overboard to feed the fish.”

“Very possible,” the captain said, looking up at the navigator with feigned innocence. “You stole from the captain, after all.”

Theft?

Yes, no one was wronging him. According to the Wind Fury’s meticulous rules, his actions did constitute theft.

Miguel stood by the desk, his breathing growing labored again. How could he have thought he’d gotten off scot-free? What was he about to face? Whipping? Keelhauling? Or outright exile? His heart pounded uncontrollably, making even the act of swallowing difficult.

“What can you offer?” The captain rested his chin on his interlaced fingers, his expression teasing, like an elegant demon toying with its helpless prey. “An eye? No, I still need your eyes for navigation. An ear? No, even with both ears, you’re disobedient enough. A leg or an arm? Hmm, I don’t think I’d enjoy having a cripple working in my office, constantly underfoot…”

Miguel: “…”

Caesar: “I’ve generously left you with an intact corpse. Now it’s your turn to answer me: what will you do, little slave?”

Comrade Miguel remained silent.

Comrade Miguel sensed something was off.

Comrade Miguel couldn’t pinpoint what exactly was off, but something definitely was.

Behind the desk, the captain’s gaze never left the navigator’s face, as if some twisted curiosity wouldn’t allow him to miss even the slightest hint of amusement. The captain’s quarters fell into an oppressive silence, and Miguel stood there, feeling as though he had truly become a corpse.

This time, it was the captain who broke the silence, suggesting they could make a deal.

The word “deal” sent Miguel’s mind into a frenzy! His thoughts raced through a series of scenarios like a revolving lantern: “The Captain’s Contract Lover,” “The Evil Captain and the Charming Crewman,” “The Iceberg Captain’s Contracted Navigator,” “The Scheming Captain, I Won’t Sell Myself,” and so on…

Hahahaha, Miguel cringed inwardly, mocking himself. As if something like that could ever happen—

“Come here, take off my pants.”

Huh?

The captain frowned slightly, impatient. “Hurry up, don’t make me repeat myself.”

Miguel walked over, his face blank.

His wrist was seized by a hot, strong hand, yanking him down. The navigator stumbled and landed on the soft carpet of the captain’s quarters. Propping himself up with one hand, he looked up, meeting a pair of amused dog-like eyes—

“It’s been a while, so it might take some time. I’ll make it up to you. Let’s begin.”